The Desperate Ones
by sympathy for monsters
Summary: Guy has vowed never to let Marian influence him again. But will he really hold true his promise? With her so close to him, so near, what measures can he take to keep the woman he cares so much about away from his heart? Set after Season 1.
1. For A Few

Set directly after the end of the first season. Everything else follows. I don't own any of the characters.

This will be set mostly in Guy's point of view. Mhmm. Tell me what you think.

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At least, he had consoled himself; she had not broken his skin. Given him an unsightly bruise on his jawbone, the color spread upwards towards his cheek, but it wasn't half as bad as punches that Vaisey had thrown his way. No, she might think herself strong, but Guy knew that most of it was play, a ploy to distract herself from her real weaknesses in her heart.

He turned his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at the purple blemish that his ring. . . her ring. The ring had caused him, wielded by not so formidable an opponent. How humiliating. The woman he loved – could he say he loved her, anyway? It was more of a desire, he decided, not so much love as a want or a pressing need. Love was implying far too much to bestow it on her. Needless to say, the woman he had desired, and desired enough to marry, not only leaving him at the altar, but hitting him; physically assaulting him was more than an insult.

It was unforgivable.

Guy resolved that night as he was staring himself in the mirror, that Marian had made an error so grave that she would never forget it. He wouldn't let her forget it. His pride had been hurt far more than the mark his former bride had left on his face. No, that was temporary, the bruise would fade away and leave no mark, no scar to remind him daily of his failure, of her refusal. But pride, he knew, getting ready for a restless sleep, would not so easily heal.

He almost didn't want it to go, didn't want that burning feeling to leave whenever he thought of Marian. He didn't want to go back to that terrible, cavernous feeling when he looked at her. It had been torture, their engagement. To be so close and yet still as far away as the Holy Land of Jerusalem where the King stayed.

It was a humorless irony that Guy reflected in. The one man who could bring him the solidarity he had sought to be with Marian was the man whom in attempting to destroy would have brought down all structure he had ever known in England. How the mighty seem to twist the world to their tastes.

In bed he ordered the servant away, the only trace that the older man had been in his quarters was the lamp left by his masters bedside.

Robin Hood. Guy would never refer to the man as Robin of Locksley. Never again. He was not noble, he was of the Hood, of the Wood, of the Bow and Arrow and of the People. Robin of the Hood was an outlaw, a deserter, an incompetent bleeding heart that knew no companions but those weaker than him. He was a menace, really, the stupid boy – not a man, despite years of military service, he was a brat and therefore a mere boy, and titles such as of Land were for men of status and service, two things that were now as foreign to Robin as Moors were to England.

And of Marian? That woman ran off with the boy after she had left him, alone, confused, completely at a loss as he stood awkwardly at his first altar in ages. He was not a religious man, although certainly not godless by any means. He had a few senses of propriety about him, even if no one would see them. But Marian? What did it say for her, that she would be so heartless as to completely desert him when he was at his most vulnerable, when he was weak within the power of the church and her veiled stare.

He took advantage of him for the past year, exploited his power over the new sheriff after hers as the daughter of the former position had expired. Guy couldn't have pinpointed when she first became so manipulative, when at first he had seen her as an innocent of the collateral damage due to attending Vaisey within the shire. He supposed, turning in his bed, that it was when Hood showed up again that she began to realize how weak she was, how much she needed something to cling to whilst she proved herself. With Hood home she was just a bleeding heart noble, not a maverick as Hood paraded himself.

It was Hoods fault that his heart be so jilted. What did it speak of her character that she would run off with that. . . .boy.

Well.

Guy would speak to the sheriff. She could no longer go unchecked. She would be supervised, restrained, caged like the birds in the upstairs chambers. Yes, Guy thought to himself, that would do nicely. Have a little songbird in the castle. A new object for him to look over and oversee. She would be another piece of treasure for him to guard, to protect. But now? He would refuse any other attachment to her. No matter what. No matter any words or any actions.

Guy would refuse to be swayed again by the Maid Marian. Never again, he vowed as he fell asleep. Never again would she sway him. Marian


	2. Sick Men

Ahh, I see you readers. Give me a few words to help me along. I have a few twists planned out that may give you incentive. Tell me if I have these two down well/awful/out of style.

My perspective may be askew.

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When he had suggested setting fire to her . . . house, Guy had no idea that it would work so well. He watched her leave the common room where Vaisey had laid down the law for her and Sir Edward and he didn't think to say that he was sad to see her leave. Her back to him was welcome, and he turned away as the door snapped shut behind her.

"Guy."

"Sir."

"I want you to keep a personal detail on that woman." Vaisey said, looking up at his deputy from his lounging position on the wooden chair. Guy nodded, it wasn't like he needed telling.

"Done."

"Oh, and Guy?" He glanced down at the sheriff again. "If you have to get the bitch a leash, I wouldn't be too opposed to the idea." Guy stiffened but didn't move; the sheriff had looked away almost immediately, standing up and inspecting a cage of songbirds he had in the room. He took a deep breath as Vaisey edged away from him and instead of looking at the sheriff Guy turned his view elsewhere, out the window.

"Of course." Guy muttered. He didn't really want to give a committal answer; having Marian on any sort of leash would lessen his idea of her, give him a different view of exactly what she was to him. She was such an ideal woman to him, everything he every expected, everything he wanted, nothing he could have, a contradiction to ever woman he had ever met.

Granted, he thought, inclining his head towards the sheriff as he took his leave, he hadn't met very many women in Gisborne, and hardly any worth his attention.

"Gisborne!"

Guy stopped, one hand on the doorjamb as he turned back to the sheriff for a second time. "Women," the other man said, "Are lepers."

Guy narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth to say something and then left, deciding against it. Nothing would add to the sheriffs contemplation, and really, Guy didn't want another argument with the man. Leaving the consultation room for his own personal quarters.

The walk through the castle was drafty and not at all that pleasant. Guy was lost mostly in his own thoughts, thinking about the smith he had hired, a few more hunches he was pursuing and wondering how on earth he was going to get the meddlesome and troublesome Robin of the Hood out of his hair.

The Sheriff expected much of Guy, and he was not one to refuse responsibility – and the power it entailed. It was all he had wanted, after all, power of people or things or even his life. Guy hardly ever had his own decisions made for him, after all.

He had hoped that, upon entering his quarters, he would have the chance to relax, respond to a few letters, keep in touch with a few key correspondents throughout the country, perhaps plan a few dastardly plots to thwart Hood and kill the King. The false king? The true king? Either way, the named king. But no, once h pushed open the door he was greeted with a site both no entirely unpleasant but wholly unexpected.

Marian.

She was standing inside his room at Nottingham manor, arms crossed, eyes reddened but not teary, cheeks flushed crimson. He was silent as she watched him enter, stood still as he slowly closed the door and stood in front of it, his arms crossing to mimic her own stance.

"Guy-"

"Sir Guy."

"Sir Guy, you cannot do this." Marian entreated, easily bowing down to the title that he insisted upon. She had hurt him, wounded him, and there was no way that he would let her away so easy without treating her with some sort of coldness.

"Do not presume to tell me what not to do Lady Knighton."

She looked away, eyes wide. No, he would not be swayed by this. He could see it in her eyes, she was grasping at strings, looking for anything that would lessen her arrest within the castle. He remained stony as he watched her lower her arms and approach him. How dare she.

"Please," her lips were shaped as a bow, parted as she looked up at him. "My father -"

"No."

Is that what she was going to do? That excuse? Too proud to beg for her own freedom, too proud to truly admit that she needed help, unwilling to lower herself before him – in more ways than one – to entreat him to her cause, she was going to speak on behalf of her father rather than her own. It made him sick, he told himself, sick that she still didn't know her place. And then that fire, that spirit. How could he help but to admire her pride which may only match his own.

"He is sick, Sir Guy, and needs the certain contentment of the country, Nottingham is no place for him. At least send him away."

She was far too close to him. He couldn't hold her gaze, his eyes drifting to the floor despite his former stance.

"And have him out there ripe for Hood to take." Did she flinch at his name? "No. He stays here. Be grateful that he is in a room and not a cell."

"Send him somewhere I do not know of!" She exclaimed, grabbing onto his arm, snapping Guy's eyes back to hers. "Send him to an Abbey, to London, to our cousins in York. Somewhere neither Robin nor I could find him. Anywhere but here."

Vaisey was right. The father was the perfect puppet. As long as they controlled him they controlled Marian, more so than she even realized. Already another plan was forming in the back of the knight of Gisborne's mind. If he could control Sir Edward, Marian was nothing. If he was the source of her spirit, what would she be without it.

"He stays here." Guy said, pulling his arm out of her grasp. He would not be played by her anymore. "And you will not. Out of my office."

Marian watched as he reached behind him to open the door, frostily indicating that she leave. She took a few steps towards the exit, and then looked back to him.

"I am sorry."

Guy clentched his jaw. He had so much to say to her, so much he wanted to tell her, but she was gone before he could open his mouth. And it was probably for the better.

She disappeared down the hall and Guy closed the door softly. Taking deep breaths, he moved towards his desk and sat without really facing what he needed to take care of. He glanced at the papers and ink strewn about the wood and with a swift motion of his hand shoved it all to the floor.

He stood and exited, snapping at a guard to get a handmaid in there to clean. This castle was no place for a sick man. He needed a long ride home.


	3. Cages and Nests

I will give my reviewers (thank you!) that these chapters are pretty rough. I'll go back and try to edit it. Mhmm. Thanks for the clicks, keep it up. First of a few twists. Tell me what you think.

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The following days at the castle Marian stayed away from him. Or, as it were, he may have taken a few measures to avoid her as well. He didn't want to see her; didn't want to be around her, didn't want anything to do with her. She was a witch, Guy had decided, a cunning deceiving Jezebel of a woman who didn't deserve to be in the same breathing space as he was.

He had been discussing the subject of his new smith with the sheriff and was sure that within the week there would be even more promising results to show. Gisborne was not a stupid man; far from it. He had just been handed the lot of being underneath so many others that nothing he ever did was good enough for anyone.

But he was through with that he decided, taking leave of the Sheriffs chambers. He was done being everyone else's foot mat. He was going to get power. And he was going to do it in his own way. If that meant aligning himself with a man as serpentine as Vaisey, so be it.

That night Vaisey had decided that he needed a family dinner. The sheriff had sat down at the head of the table, Guy on his right, and opposite him Edward, Marian on his right. Guy tried to ignore the guards all around him, tried to focus on his meal, but his eyes kept going over towards Marian, who seemed to be doing as he was, and focus on the foul in front of her.

The company was quite foul, if Guy was to be honest. Vaisey was not exactly the best for dinner talk, and Sir Edward was not talkative by any standards. Marian was finally acting as if she had learned her place; staying silent.

"Edward," Vaisey began, licking his fingers as he finished his leg, "How do you find your new accommodations? Cozy?"

"Drafty." Marian interjected, looking up before she had time to be silenced by a sharp look from her father.

"The rooms are fine." Sir Edward said, looking away from his daughter and facing the Sheriff again.

"I only with I had more scenery to enjoy than the view."

"That is enough, Marian."

Guy lifted his tankard of water again in order to avoid everybody's eyes. Viasey was enjoying seeing the two nobles squirm across the table from him. He smiled brightly, loving the thought that if he really wanted to all it would take was a nod of his head that would give the guards the permission to run either or both of the two through with any variety of weapons.

"I can give you a tour of the dungeons, Lady Knighton, if you'd like a change of pace." Vaisey said, smiling down the table as Marian glanced up at him and Edward stared at a space slightly above and to the left of the Sheriff's head. "No? That's not enough scenery for you? I suppose I could lock you up in the east wing. The view is fantastic, if you don't mind squinting through an arrow slit."

It was a definite threat, the ice lacing his words. There was nearly frost chilling the room as Vaisey finished speaking, mouth open, eyes wide in almost a predatory smile down the wooden table. It was not a comment that would require answering.

The rest of the meal was spent nearly in silence until Vaisey suggested that the former members of Knighton hall take their leave. Edward excused himself and Marian followed suit, silent again. Guy's eyes followed her as she left before he looked down at his own plate.

"It's dark." Guy said, standing. "I must be getting to Locksley." He stood and exited the chamber quickly before Vaisey could call him back. The town had been quiet of late. It wasn't like Nottinghamshire to be so tame.

He prepared his horse, found his personal guard, and left the castle, the moon being waned enough to let him see his way through the forest well enough. He hadn't gotten past the gate before he saw someone dart around a corner. He narrowed his eyes, hoped it a trick of the shadows and continued down the path.

Without much warning he turned around and saw the corner of a cloak whip around a building. He held up a fist to stop his guards and quickly slipped off his horse, intent on following someone so secretive. Anyone with any sort of lucrative business would be in the street, in the lighted lamps. The dark was for thieves and drunkards.

Going into the alley he saw the cloak again and hastened after it, the chilly air hitting his cheeks as he ran. A back now – he followed, making no secret of his noise.

"You there!" The figure turned around and Guy's eyes narrowed. A mask!

"Got you," The man growled, following the figure in hot pursuit. The night watchman seemed a bit heavyset for Robin Hood, as he had oft suspected the two to be one in the same. The masked man was throwing a few carts over, that Guy had to slow down to go around. After stumbling across a fruit stand Guy came to a split in the road. Cursing he quickly went left just to see the masked man climb the roof of a house.

"Another time, then."

The masked man had pulled up a ladder. There may have been only a limited place for the man to have gone, but the deputy knew as well as any other that disappearing in Nottingham, even just in the little surrounding suburb within the walls was very easy.

A thought nagged him throughout the rest of the night, and he went home uneasy.

The next day he awoke, fully realizing the thought he had only suspected last night. Returning to the castle, he went direct to the Sheriff, pulling him away from where a carpenter was building a model of the English lands.

"The Night Watchman."

"Yes, what about him? Did he invade your home? Rape your servants, pillage your farms?"

"No."

"Well then what did he do that's anything worth mentioning?" Vaisey asked, exasperated. "I need to make sure the cliffs off Dover are correctly portrayed. You can't expect these things to be done by people who've actually been there. This man-" he added in an undertone – "thinks Nice merely an adjective and not a location in France. Woe to the poor."

"I know who he is."

Vaisey looked surprised. "Well why didn't you just say that?"

Guy resisted the urge to hit the rat like man in front of him.

"I felt it prudent to keep the information private."

"Well? Who is it?"

Guy took a deep breathe. "I believe it to be Sir Edward."

"No. Old Eddie?" Vaisey said, eyes wide, glinting terribly. His mouth was open. "Why it can't be,"

"He's faking his sickness sir. He's bedridden, only accepting the company of his daughter. . . this isn't a new trick, if you'll recall." Guys' voice was still low. "The man I was chasing did not have the trim of a young man. Who's to say that the Night Watchman makes up for age in experience?"

"We can't hang him. . . . The backlash would be forthwith. . . "

"Put him in the dungeons." Guy suggested, breathless that his suggestion was finally being taken seriously. "Keep him here, close, under lock and key."

"And if you see the Night Watchman again?"

"Then we can claim he is an imposter and we already have Edward in the cells. And we will be keeping the Lady here."

"Keeping the bird caged allows it to escape. . . keeping its nest close assures it will return." Vaisey muttered to himself. He nodded finally, stepping forwards and away from Guy. "Very good Gisborne. See it done."

Guy nodded and exited quickly, leaving the Sheriff to natter on about the state of the shape of the Thames. His small smile of satisfaction sunk as he realized what he had done, albeit somewhat inadvertently. He had given Marian an excuse to entreat him again.

For her father. Whom he suspected perfectly capable. He had lasted this long without an attending physician at Knighton. What was she playing at, old and feeble. His eyes narrowed again as he strode through the halls. He had a few things to take care of before assuring Edward of his place in the basement floors of Nottingham.


	4. Fathers Daughter

Keep reading, I can keep writing. Reviews are much appreciated. New twists, again.

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As Guy had suspected Marian didn't take the imprisonment of her father well at all. Angry would have been an understatement, livid could not describe the color that came to her cheeks. She was stunned nearly speechless by the coldness in which Guy carried out the Sheriff's orders.

He walked behind the guards as they walked down the stairwell into the dungeons, and nodded at the pair that stood at attention in front of the caged area.

He was surprised at how much he wanted to just let her go. Let her do what she wanted, give her anything she could possibly want if she would just smile at him. He couldn't be around her like this. Snapping strict orders at the guards not to let Marian in the dungeon he left, turning on his heel as we went to see to the Sheriff.

"Guy!"

He stopped, closed his eyes, steeled his mind, turned around to see Marian, distraught, eyes wide. She was shocked.

"How can you do this?" She hissed, walking up to him, locking her eyes with his. "My father is frail. Any physician will tell you he is no threat to anyone. How can you do this?" She repeated, her voice carrying with it all the accusations that she could muster.

"Unless you can produce the Night Watchman from underneath your bed," Guy said, furrowing his brows as Marian raised hers in surprise. "Then your father is my lead. Can he provide an alibi for all those nights? Knighton is tucked away. It would not be difficult for him."

"Except the fact that he's ill, Sir Guy! Aside from the very visible impairments of his body and health, your theory is faultless!"

"I refuse to listen any more to this." Guy muttered, closing his eyes, his hands tucked into his belt. "You can address the Sheriff directly if you want to talk more about your fathers lawful imprisonment."

"I want to talk to you!" Marian exclaimed, nearly stomping her foot in frustration. She had no idea how much Guy wanted to wrap his arms around her, tell her it would be alright, that'd he'd do anything to make her happy, that he'd get her father free, that he'd find someone else to blame. No. He couldn't.

Guy didn't respond – couldn't respond – and left Marian standing there, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and went to find the Sheriff.

Vaisey smiled to himself and quickly sidled out of the hallway, and found the door he had hidden behind a tapestry.

There was a problem in his castle.

Two days later Vaisey found Guy in his office-room, writing a correspondence to some smithy he had found while travelling through Spain.

"Yes?"

"I have a treat for you, Gisborne."

"A treat?"

"Did I stutter?" The sheriff asked, eyebrows rising as Guy clenched his jaw. "No. . . . " Vaisey's drawl hung in the air and Guy sighed slowly, exasperated already with the man. "Well come along. Your letters can wait."

Guy did not like where this was going. Vaisey led him into the high-ceilinged chamber where he held his public meetings. They stood on the balcony overlooking the odd scene that Vaisey displayed. Upon the long table where generally there were taxes, parchments, or even food, stood a veritable harem of servants.

"What is this?" Guy asked softly, looking at the assortment of young women. They had obviously been put through the wash just within the last hour in a desperate attempt to full out the hollowness of their cheeks, add color to their hair and palor.

"Well. I figured that you're so hung up on that silly girl-" Guy,s hand tightened over his sword. "-that you would prefer someone a little more. . . pliant." The Sheriff looked over his shoulder and up at the taller man.

"Pick one. They're all indentured for some reason or another. Husbands sold them, Fathers don't want them, bastard children of the church. A few may even be taken in for public solicitation, if you want to ask around."

"I will not partake in this."

"You will choose a servant girl." Vaisey said, steel coming through his tone. "You will bring her to Locksley. And she will be yours until her contract is fulfilled or I connive some way to make her a permanent resident." He watched Guy. "Do we understand each other."

It wasn't a question. Guy nodded and Vaisey smiled, clapping his deputy on the back.

"Good. I'll leave you to it." He left directly after and Guy leaned over the edge of the balcony, knuckles white underneath black gloves.

This was ridiculous. He couldn't believe he had to do this. All he could see was the heads and shoulders of the women, and a few other men milling around – most likely their handlers.

If there was ever a time that he had wanted to murder Vaisey now would have been it. He slowly descended the staircase and looked over the women quickly. He didn't want to do this. Didn't want to distract himself from other things that were more important than picking out the newest mouth to feed at Locksley. It wasn't like he didn't have perfectly useful servants already.

He only slightly noticed that each one of the women displayed before him on the table was an exceptional beauty. Although each had the look that they had a rough time of it, arms too thin, hair tied back tightly.

"You." He pointed at a slim girl with pale hair and rags that covered most of her body. There was no reason behind his choice, rather that she was the servant closest to the edge of the table and would be the easiest to get out of the room and usher home. "Her. Where's her contract." All business again.

Instantly a rather large man came forward with the grubby parchment. All that stood in for her name was a rather wilted 'X', while the stronger signature that denoted who was receiving money read Thom. Farmer. Guy quickly signed his name, was assured that the Sheriff had guaranteed payment and quickly left the room.

He didn't want to be around that any longer than possible.

It was late that night when he left. He had already sent his guard ahead of him, not really wanting the noise of their armor and horses to annoy him. When he got to the stable he didn't expect the tall girl to be standing next to the horseman who had prepared his gelding. He watched the woman carefully, but she was simply standing there, no guard around her, hands untied, head down as he mounted the horse.

Guy said nothing still as he clucked his horse forwards at a walk. The woman silently turned and followed. Looking back Guy slowed his horses pace further and they continued out of Nottingham.

They travelled in silence until Guy – who had been sneaking looks down at his new ward, attempting to figure out what kind of servant she was – asked her name. The response was so mumbled, even amid the silence of the forest that he had to ask her again.

"Louder girl."

"Abigail, m'Lord." She said, her eyes never leaving the ground.

"How did you come to be indentured?" He asked, the silence breaking.

"My father sold me, m'Lord." Abigail muttered softly. There was no explanation following, no sob story of starving children or sick wife. It was as simple as her father needed money, and she was his to give away. The girl wasn't trying to incite his pity, rouse him to feel sorry for her. She was simply telling him exactly what he asked for, and nothing more.

They continued to Locksley in silence, and she stood still outside the manor as he dismounted and handed the reigns of his horse to the stableboy.

"Go to see Matilda. Get some clean clothes and then attend me in my chambers." Guy instructed, not wanting to have much to do with the woman. He left her in the doorway and went upstairs to his room. He began to pace and it was nearly fifteen minutes before there was a soft knock on his door.

"Enter."

"M'Lord."

Abigail entered the room, leaving the door open. Guy crossed his arms as he looked at her.

"Step forwards."

She did, immediately. He walked around her, circling her. She was very fair, far too skinny, trim, it looked like she had seen labor. Guy took her hands. Calluses. She was used to work. He dropped her hands and stood in front of her. His servant was still staring at the ground.

"Look up."

She did, her eyes not on his, but rather at the buckles on his neck. His hand took hold of her face and turned her head up, her dark brown eyes catching hold of his in a timorous stare.

"Very well." He let go of her, turned away. "You shall be my attendant. I may as well put you to use as long as you are here."

"Yes m'Lord."

He was done with her, and sat down on his bed, leaning down to take off his boots. Guy glanced up to tell her she was dismissed but she had already moved, and was now kneeling at his feet, unbuckling his boot.

"What are you doing?"

"Preparing you for bed, m'Lord." Abigail muttered.

Guy was so surprised that he let her get on with it, taking off his boots, lying them by his bed, then his socks. She stood and he followed suit, letting her take off his belts and lay them on the dresser. His sword came unfastened and he stopped her, holding onto her wrist where his hand was held.

"This stays by me."

She nodded, placing it on the bed. The jacket came off next, and was as well folded and laid on the dresser. Next his mail, and finally his shirt. Abigail stepped away, pulled back the covers on his bed, and then went to stand beside the candle. Guy sat down and she blew out the light, curtsying to her newest lord and exiting the room, closing the door behind her.

Guy stared after her, shook his head and marveled at where she had been trained so finely. He slipped into bed and fell asleep fairly quickly, thinking about the woman in Nottingham castle as he did so. It wasn't an uncommon thing for him.


	5. Lavender

Hiatus over? But really, it is. Anyway, this is the longest chapter yet, sorry to make everyone wait. I see you, readers. Thanks for giving me another shot, and let me know what you think!

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It was almost unnerving how much Abigail did in her first few days. Guy didn't quite know why he let her do it, but she had taken to clothing him in the morning, serving him (something that Mathilda only did by setting out the breakfast) and afterwards somehow managing to be outside in time to hold his reigns out for him instead of his usual stableboy. It simply stunned Guy that he hardly had to speak to the servant girl at all and yet had nearly everything done properly.

He supposed, thinking about it on the way to Nottingham one morning, sans guard, it was that having her around, waiting on him like she did, made him feel more like he was a noble. It was a status symbol, even if nobody else could see it, to have the servant girl at Locksley to wait on his every need. Mathilda and her husband were quite old and frankly, their previous allegiance to Robin made them all the more unwilling to yield to another master.

The Sheriff was practically foaming at the mouth when he received Guy, tripping over himself, eyes bugged out as he began to relate to his deputy the delicious new treat he had found for himself. Guy wasn't particularly ecstatic about this, and was willing to bet that Vaisey was going to show him the newest whore he had managed to import or the latest fashion in French torture.

Guy tugged on his jacket absently as Vaisey led him down to the armory, which was on the same level as the dungeons. The guard parted on either side of the locked door and one came forwards to open it. Vaisey was smiling like a dingo and Guy was still unimpressed.

"A torch, Gisbourne."

Guy glanced at a soldier, who immediately handed him the flame. Guy moved into the chamber and lit the three lamps he could see and turned to Vaisey, who was holding a small bag that couldn't hold anything bigger than a chickens egg.

"What is it?" Guy asked, frowning. Something so small locked up in the dungeon-armory?

"Here." Vaisey reached into the bag and set a small pile of what looked like pepper on the ground. "There."

Guy raised an eyebrow and Vaisey's smile turned upside down quickly. "The torch, Gisbourne, Lay it on." Still incredulous, Guy lowered the torch onto the small not even really there smear of powder.

A flash made Guy jump back as Vaisey clapped his hands, smiling at the ashen streak on the stone.

"Blasting powder!" Vaisey said gleefully. "They use it for mining, caving out passages. But us? Think of what we could do if we set this off in Robins camp? Or even -" His visage became practically monstrous as he became more ambitious "- underneath a castles ramparts? If we had enough we'd be able to storm the Vatican and bring even churches to heel."

Guy was amazed, he had never seen anything like this.

"An explosion?" He thought, "Cliffs. We could pave new roads. Cleaner passages for easier travel. Dam rivers, divert streams. We could supply the castle with freshwater by diverting an underground aquifer. . . Get a dowser to supply the proper maps of the area."

"You are thinking too practically Gisbourne." Vaisey chided as he led the man away from the armory, nodding to the men standing watch to lock the room up once more. He threw an arm around Guy as the neared the stairway to the ground floor. "You need to understand that there are more important things at stake." Vaisey's arm slipped off Guys shoulder so that he could walk up the stairs that would only accommodate a single person.

Guy was still frowning when a soft noise turned his attention to the dungeons opposite the armory.

His eyes met Marians, as she stood up from where she had been kneeling.

She made as if she was going to walk after him, but Guy broke his stare from hers and quickly ascended the steps and followed Vaisey.

"I will be in my study. I have a few more letters to dictate to our treasured friends." Vaisey said, an obvious dismissal that he had to ask for more money from his co-conspirators.

Guy turned as Vaisey left and began to make his way to his own office when a voice stopped him.

"Sir Guy."

No. No. Don't turn. Don't do it.

"Yes?" The word came out strained, as if it were blasphemy to be speaking to her. He had barely glanced over his shoulder, but he knew that she was halfway up the stairs, would have her eyes wide, one hand on the stone, the other by her side. It was no wonder that Guy, with this figure ready made in his mind, started when he felt a hand press his shoulder to turn him back around.

"Please. See to my father." There wasn't the girls usual tone. The pleading was gone, replaced by a hopeless desperation. She knew that flattery would never help her against Guy.

"You seem to be attending to him just fine."

"His health is in decline." She said, and he turned to see her bright ice-eyes full with tears. Guy's own eyes widened and he brushed by her with the pretense of rushing to Sir Edwards side, but really doing so just to avoid seeing her so close to hysterics. His heart was hammering and he knew that even being around her, being near her, would only hurt him.

He strode down to the cell where Sir Edward was, and saw that a physician was inside the bars already. The man stood up.

"I have already bled him once today, sir, but he's more feverish than I've seen him so-" the physician indicated a small bowl filled with blood. Guy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, finding patience as he heard Marian behind him. He entered the cell and interrogated the physician further. How was his fever? His humors? And finally – after five minutes of symptoms and treatments the physician had been trying – the man suggested that Sir Edwards would be more inclined to recovery were his surroundings not so repressed.

Guy looked at Marian, who was watching him, all traces of weakness gone in her stare.

"Keep watch over him." Guy said as Sir Edward coughed feebly and moaned. The younger man saw the former sheriff shiver and the threadbare blanket that was laid over the one already provided. He was in the hallway towards the stairs when he heard Marian fall in step behind him. It was when they were on the ground floor that she skipped a step ahead to stop in front of him.

"You must help him."

"I must do nothing." Guy said softly. "Step aside," he commanded, but made no indication to move her away.

"You are the only one who can help him. I have no voice here."

"You voice plenty. Take this up with the sheriff." Still he didn't move.

"He won't help me." Marian said tonelessly, eyes on the ground. Then her expression changed to something that spoke of bitterness. "I've asked everyone. Everyone but you."

There was nothing Guy wanted more in that moment to protect her. To take her away from all her cares and tell her that everything would be fine, that he would help her, that he would do anything for her, as long as she would stay near to him.

"I am your last choice, then?" Guy asked, his voice without the venom he thought it should have.

"No." Marian looked up at him, not hiding her feelings – anger, terror, annoyance, desperation – every emotion played out. "You are my only choice. I can't ask anyone else. Please. Shut him in a tower, in his own room, where nobody enters or exits but me and the physician and the priest. Give him better clothes, a more decent meal, a fire in his cell. Please." Her hand found his wrist.

"Please. Anything."

Guy couldn't speak for a moment. Couldn't imagine anything worth saying to her when her lips had moved in so perfect a form. His hand clenched, tightened to make his fingers stay away from her neck, her shoulder, to return her hold on his hand. He should ask for something, ask for a fair exchange, ask for a deal or a return or a promise or a ring, but the words wouldn't come. After a time she let go of him and he found his powers of speech returned to him.

"We shall see."

Without another word, without giving her time to say anything more, or move more, or touch him again he left, turning promptly on his heel and left her standing there.

He left immediately, his horse not even fully rested from the short trek to Nottingham from the morning. Guy didn't care, didn't even notice that he nearly sentenced a guard to death for attempting to follow him. Once outside of the walls Guy whipped his horse into a spring and quickly fell off the path of the woods, his animal careening through the forest at a full tilt.

It seemed hours, but it wasn't much longer than fifteen or twenty minutes hard riding that found him staring at the ashes of Knighton Hall, the dark blight still scarring the earth. He dismounted his gasping horse and walked around the small clearing, examining the earth for anything out of the ordinary.

His eyes narrowed and he stormed forwards into the ashes, reaching out and grabbing an arrow that had been shot into a piece of the wood that had not fully caught fire. It was straight, thicker than the usual arrow, and the fletching was too precise.

Robin Hood.

He had been here, looking for her, looking after her. With her? Guy had no idea, but the mere thought of him even near Marian, even walking among the ashes of her home sent him into a fury. He snapped the arrow in his hands like twig and dropped the pieces to the ground, vowing to find Hood. He needed to find him, kill him, leave him.

It was many hours after dark before he finally made it home. He was sure that nobody would be awake and resolved that if he was awake, there was no way that any member of his house would be sleeping once he entered. He was the master of Locksley, dammit! Nobody did anything on his property without his say so.

His fury was undeterred by the hours he had spent in the forest, and he arrived at Locksley irate.

To his surprise, the front lamp was still on, and he saw a shape illuminated against the doorway. He frowned, fearing an attack, but quickly relaxed once he realized that the slim figure stood more at attention as he approached.

Abigail. Had she been waiting all this time? Her head inclined as he dismounted and she moved forwards to take the reigns, leading his horse into the stable. Guy left her and went inside, noting the fire that was well looked after had not been spread to die and that his place at the table was still set. Matilda, he knew, never prepared his place until she knew he would be home. Abigail seemed to think that his plate should be ready for him the instant he came home.

It was ridiculous, but Guy realized he'd hardly eaten the entire day, and as Abigail entered the main room he snapped at her that he'd not be having dinner that night.

She bowed and he trooped upstairs, making more noise than necessary but certainly not enough to disturb anyone out of a good rest. He noted that the tapers in his room were unlit and he frowned, annoyed, and quickly set two aflame. Less than five minutes later the knock on his door indicated that Abigail had arrived.

"Enter."

"Apologies M'Lord." She said softly, eyes on the floor. "You're room was unprepared. I didn't know when you would arrive. I will do better."

Guy couldn't even find it in him to be frustrated with her constant compliance that seemed to him weakness. He realized how tired he was, how tired and hungry and annoyed with everything that had happened that day. How Marian had looked at him, how he had felt her hand against his wrist.

"It's fine."

Abigail bowed again.

"Will you prepare for bed, M'Lord?"

Guys head had been in his hands and he pushed his hair back, running his fingers through his hair as he did so. He stood up and frowned.

"What's that smell?"

"Lavender, sir." Her voice became, if anything, even quieter. "I found some in a field nearby. I had-" She suddenly stopped, her mouth tightening as if she had said too much.

"Had what, girl?" Guy asked, finding again his voice less venomous than he would have liked.

"I had hoped they would help you sleep." Abigail finished, a color rising in her cheeks, embarrassed she had overstepped her bounds. "You often move, I can tell by the way your sheets are spread in the mornings. Where your pillows lie. I'm sorry if it displeases you." She added in quickly, letting her eyes skip over to him and then back at the ground. She took his silence for assent "I'll remove it immediately."

Guy narrowed his eyes, impressed and annoyed at her observation. She was at least a little more attentive than Matilda. Though she was not a hard mark to match.

"No. Leave it." He said, resituating himself on his bed and noticing fully the smell that floated lightly through the room. "I'll prepare for bed now."

Abigail nodded and quickly knelt down, her fingers slipping on the buckles of his boots. Guy noticed her hands shaking as she undressed him. As was usual now, Abigail placed his sword by his side and pulled back his covers, barely waiting for the nod that indicated her dismissal before turning towards the door.

"Abigail." He called out wearily.

She entered once again, eyes wide, "M'Lord?"

He inclined his head and her eyes widened. "Thank you."

Abigail neatly curtsied deeply and with a flick of her dress, slipped out the door, closing it softly and leaving Guy in semidarkness, with only lavender and the ghost of a hand on his wrist to lull him to sleep.


	6. Sleep

This really should have been an addition to the last chapter, but it was already dragging on, so I just tacked it on here. Yep. This is a short one, but the next is coming up soonerish.

Review darn your eyes. I see you reading. They're very nice to read and make me want to write more/faster. And. End begging.

* * *

When Guy woke up the next morning he felt like he hadn't stormed around half of the shire the previous afternoon. His entire body felt relaxed and he turned over to bury his face in his pillow, enjoying the lavender that wafted up from the sheets. His hand clutched the soft pillow and he groaned in the back of his throat. The sun was hitting his bedpost at a height that he knew meant he had overslept past his normal waking hour.

Damn it.

It didn't matter though; he wasn't required to be at the castle today, seeing as how the Sheriff would be too busy counting the money that he was expecting to come dripping in throughout the week from the conspirators that Guy didn't really know a thing about. He didn't want to, not really, he had just been expected to go along with whatever the sheriff did. He did so too. Not because he believed in the man, but because he needed to.

The second son of a second son had very few options in this world. He could have been a kings knight, but that would have meant Crusading and for all the virtues Guy had piety was not one of them. He would have served the King at home, but abroad was asking too much for him. So he had been assigned to Sherwood, after the new Sheriff requested a deputy.

There was no love lost between him and Vaisey. This was a business arrangement. Guy knew that this wasn't anything personal, it was strictly a way for him to make his way in the world. He had no other friends, maybe a few acquaintances in Gisborne, but for the most part his family had died off and the only real blood relatives he had were cousins and uncles so distant he didn't even know their names.

It was just him, and he supposed that was how he liked to suffer it.

Guy thought of Marian and wished in the back of his mind that maybe he shouldn't have to suffer much of anything. He didn't deserve everything he got for following the orders of a mildly mad sheriff.

It didn't matter. He would find a way to make everything work for him anyway. There were very few things he couldn't control, what angered him is how much of a nuisance those things tended to be.

Guy stretched in his bed and then slid out of it, bare feet hitting the floor as he stumbled out of the door.

In the hall, directly across from his door, should have been a bowl of hot water waiting for him to wash his face. He frowned as he stepped forwards and realized there was no bowl there. There were steps ascending the stairwell and he looked over, his frown disappearing as he saw Abigail carefully carrying the steaming bowl of water in both towel-protected hands.

He stepped back as she placed it down on the table in front of him and folded the towel she used to carry the bowl and then held it out to him.

"M'Lord." She muttered, eyes on the ground. Guy took the towel and dipped it in the water, using it to clean his face. Abigail stood where she was and Guy glanced at her, noting that her gaze not only wasn't on him, but her eyes were hardly focused and she was swaying slightly. He narrowed his eyes, placing the towel down.

"Look at me."

It took her a few seconds – the delay another sign that she wasn't herself - but she did so, and Guy noticed the dark circles under her eyes the slack jaw of a person who hadn't much sleep.

"When did you get to bed?" Guy asked, curious despite the fact that this girl could do what she wanted as long as she was still and able servant.

"After I had cleaned up from dinner, and then checked after your horse."

"Why didn't the stable boy see to that?"

Abigail's eyes flicked up to his and she muttered something softly.

"Speak _up_, girl."

"He had left for the villiage of Locksley." She said. "It was his sisters wedding night."

"When did you awake?"

"At dawn sir, to prepare your meal and make sure that your washing-water was warm. There were chores to do, M'Lord."

Her responses were nearly automatic and Guy wasn't surprised that she was swaying on her feet. She couldn't have had more that five or six hours of sleep at the most, considering that he usually awoke at dawn and he knew that Abigail was probably working even before that.

"Go to your quarters." Guy said, removing the towel from his shoulder and dipping it again in the water.

"Sir?"

He turned to her, annoyed that his act of charity was lost on her.

"Go to your bed. Sleep. Rest. You are excused from your duties for the day. Matilda will see to me."

Her eyes widened, and Guy wondered if this had ever happened to her.

"Sir, I couldn't possibly. ."

"I order you to bed." Guy said again, annoyed and a little amused that he had to command this woman to stop waiting on him. Usually he was yelling at people to attend him, not ordering them to take naps in the daytime. It was amusing that the person he should have at his every beck and call was proving not only helpful, but was almost too involved. "You are no use this fatigued, and you will feel well enough in time to help with dinner, if you really feel the need to busy yourself today."

Any other servant would jump at the chance to take a day off. Abigail swayed, torn by her duty to Guy and the call of her bed.

"If that is what M'Lord wants."

"It is." Guy leaned down and splashed his face, inhaling sharply as the hot water hit his skin. "Sleep."

He turned to watch her. Abigail nodded, and stepped around the man to get to her rooms, her hand on the wall as she walked absently towards her room. She stumbled and tripped on a plank that had warped up slights and was just about to fall when Guy saw and turned quickly, holding out and arm for her to catch onto.

Her eyes wide, she gasped, quickly regained her footing, letting go of Guys arm as if it were a hot poker.

"Watch it. I won't let you off another day even if you do twist an ankle."

"Of course." Her words were rushed now, her awareness sparked by adrenaline. "My apologies." She curtsied and – rather imprudently Guy thought – walked swiftly down the hall to stairs and darted into the room she shared with Matilda.

Guy shook his head. Women. His eyes narrowed and he leaned over the bowl, looking into its shallow depths. He had an issue to sort out back in Nottingham. Maybe he would journey there today.

He glanced downstairs. That would at least keep Abigail from waiting on him. The girl needed more rest than a few hours of sleep on a hay mattress.


End file.
